


Necessary Adaptations

by Stokeworth



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Complicated partnerships, M/M, Rogues as family, if that makes any sense, set before LoT but written as a lead up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 09:18:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6111976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stokeworth/pseuds/Stokeworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard Snart knew he was going to have to adapt to survive and thrive in a world inhabited by meta-humans.  He just didn't know what form that adaptation would take. </p>
<p>Or: How Leonard, Mick, and Lisa got from point A to point B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Phase 1

**01.**

            On their first last job together Mick came unhinged.

On their second first job together he was feeling better, but _better_ was a relative term, and not a constant state.  It was as if the fire had gotten into his head, burning new pathways that he couldn’t even appreciate because he couldn’t see them.  It made him want to set his skull aflame to match the blaze he knew was there. 

 

He was burning when Snart’s voice cut through, the pure cold fury of it spreading and curling until he finally stopped and listened.

“Goddamnit, Mick you need to know when to stop!” 

He knew that, of course, they were on a job so obviously he needed to listen, but Snart didn’t seem to understand that he couldn’t.  The burning and the need to burn got in the way. 

But Snart had promised he’d get to set things on fire before the day was through, so if that meant putting up with calculations, reprimands, and that awful icy voice then he had no choice but to stick it out.  For all his flaws, Snart always kept his promises.  That was worth more than nothing. 

 

**02.**

            They’d been a halfway decent team back in the day, balanced, efficient, and both willing to do whatever it took to ensure that they not only escaped with their lives, but with a profit as well.  It had worked.  Until it hadn’t anymore.

Leonard Snart hadn’t forgotten the last job they’d pulled together, but he’d managed to distance himself from it, run the calculations, and determine that his best bet for beating the Crimson Crusader was to approach the problem from a different angle.

 

But sometimes when Mick started to laugh—that deep, crazed, obsessive laugh—he questioned himself.  He didn’t give up though, adaptation wasn’t meant to be easy and Leonard had never been one to bail until the numbers were clearly stacked against him.

When Mick finally stopped laughing and burning and started listening they had five seconds before the next phase of the plan needed to begin.  So the reprimand would have to wait.

 

**03.**

            “You’ve only got-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.  Thirty seconds.”

“Actually, it’s thirty one, thirty, twenty nine…”  Snart said.

“Shut up and move Snart, we’re in.”  Mick replied.

“Aaand now we’re at fifty, forty nine, forty eight…”

Mick wondered if he even realized he was still counting.  It was annoying as shit, but he knew saying as much would just lead to a fight, which would lead to wasted time, which would lead to them having to blast their way out to the tune of one of Snart’s _I told you so_ speeches. 

 

They did make it out though, shooting comments back and forth about which was more flawed the plan or the execution of said plan.  About the best way to secure their haul in the back of the van they used for transport.  And, of course, about the pros and cons of wearing a seatbelt. 

At one point the cold gun made an appearance, and was met with a spectacular eye roll but no comment.  Then the conversation picked back up and turned to what constituted as the optimal speed for a getaway when one was not actively being pursued by the police.  And finally, talk turned to whether it would be best to park in front of their new little hideout or on the next block over to avoid suspicion.

 

Once all was said and done Mick half-listened to the _here’s what you did wrong_ speech Leonard had no doubt been preparing all day.  

 

**04.**

            “Come on, we can get dinner.”

“I like her.”

Lisa Snart extended a hand that Mick Rory graciously accepted, ignoring the two unconscious brothers on the floor.

And that, as they say, was that. 

Lenny was obviously exasperated, Lisa could tell without him ever having to say a word, but she didn’t particularly mind.  After all, what were older brothers for if not disapproval born of overprotectiveness? 

 

They had dinner in an all-night diner.   

Mick didn’t say a word when she stretched her legs out under the table and kicked him in the shin, so maybe the guy really did like her. 

 

“It’s a shame they don’t serve alcohol.” He said in his perpetually gravelly voice once they’d finished ordering.

“Well, if you’re really itching to buy me a drink we can swing by a bar after this.” Lisa replied with a wink and a smirk. 

“If we’re going to a bar you can find some other chump to buy you drinks.” He said.

“True, true,” She hummed, “Maybe we could just rob a liquor store instead.  Then it’s like you’re buying me a drink, only we don’t have to spend any money.” 

“We could make some money, get something to drink, maybe burn the whole place to the ground,” he said, and suddenly his eyes looked a little glassy, unfocused, like he’d already been drinking.  Lenny had warned her that the man wasn’t stable, but this was something else entirely. 

“Hmm,” she nodded like she was really considering it, “No, that would be a waste, but how about this we rob someplace, and then go start a fire somewhere else.” 

“Sounds good,” Mick said, his eyes sliding back into focus just in time for the plate of waffles he’d ordered. 

 

**05.**

            “He noticed that you don’t drive.”  Lisa said to her brother with a smirk that rivaled his own trademark grin.

“Who did?” Leonard asked, as if there was anyone else they could be discussing. 

“Your new partner.  It came up while we were starting car fires in the liquor store parking lot.  He asked me about it.”  Lisa replied.

“Don’t tell me he’s becoming a bad influence on you, because if he is I have no problem getting rid of him.”  He meant it too, mostly anyway.  Mick Rory was useful, sure, but if he was making Lisa uncomfortable in any way then Leonard wouldn’t hesitate to ice him.

“Oh come on,” she almost looked innocent for a moment, “You know I’ve already been affected by the worst influence in the world and I turned out alright.” 

“You’ve got me there.”  Leonard shrugged.

“Besides, I like Mick,” she went on, “He’s smart enough to know not to buy me a drink, he’s got a good head for crime, and he pays attention.  Pays attention to you specifically.  I think you need someone like that.” 

“I don’t _need_ anyone,” he scoffed.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

 

**06.**

          When they finally found Leonard—20 miles away off a dirt road to nowhere—he looked unusually pleased with himself; which was really something, given how pleased he usually was with himself at any given time. 

“See,” Lisa said as they parked, “We didn’t have to burn the whole forest down to find him.”  She lightly punched Mick’s arm like she hadn’t been so worried she’d almost agreed to his fire-starting plan.

“Guess you were right,” he admitted. 

“ _Aw_ ,” Leonard cut in, “Were the two of you worried about me?  You shouldn’t have.  I told you I could handle the Flash and I did.” 

“Idiot.” Lisa huffed before making her way over to her brother and punching him in the arm as well; this one, however, looked like it had a lot more force behind it than the blow Mick had been on the receiving end of. 

She wrapped her arms around her brother, and Mick took that as his cue to turn away.  Leonard was weird about his sister, and weirder still about letting people know how much he cared for her; so it was probably best, he reasoned, if he let them have their little moment in private.  It really wasn’t his business anyway.

 

**07.**

            He was reluctant to admit it, but the facts spoke for themselves.  They were getting better at this.  They’d always been _good_ , sure, they were—more or less—professionals, but better meant progress, adaptation; it meant Leonard’s means had brought him to his desired end. 

Of course, arriving at that end left him with over two hundred pounds of an accomplice who was obsessed with starting fires and watching them burn.  But when they stood, shoulder to shoulder or back to back, firing their weapons to keep the cops or the Flash at bay he could almost make himself forget that Mick was a genuine lunatic. 

 

In fact, it almost seemed like Mick was forgetting as well, if that was even possible.  Leonard had begun to notice a decrease in the time it took his partner to stop burning things and get back on track.  It occurred to him that he may not have been the only one adapting, even if what they were becoming was still an unquantifiable mystery.

 

**08.**

            “If you’ve got something to say, spit it out.”  Mick growled.

Leonard smiled, and abandoned the pretense of watching the (stolen) television they’d propped up on a crate in their warehouse hideout, “Alright then, if you want to just cut to the chase I’ve got a question for you.  How long have you been living here?” 

If Mick was caught off guard by the question he hid it surprisingly well. 

“A month and a half,” he said, “give or take a week or two.  Why?  You got a problem with it?” 

“No, no,” Leonard replied, careful to keep his tone light, “I was just going to suggest that we invest more furniture.”

“You wanna’ hijack another delivery truck, or go custom?”  Mick asked.

“A little of both.  We place the order, have them deliver it somewhere, intercept them on the way, and collect our well-deserved refund.” 

“You keep saying _we_ , and it almost makes it sound like you’re moving in.” Mick observed with a dry chuckle.

“Nothing could be less true,” Leonard rolled his eyes and was about to go on when Lisa walked through the warehouse’s side door.

“Hey, I’ve got a great lead on an undermanned bank truck, that’ll be making its rounds tomorrow if you two want to get in on it.”  She crossed the room and stood between them and the tv so she could properly stare at them.

 

“Am I interrupting something?”  Lisa asked. 

Leonard stared at her for a moment, before turning to Mick who looked just as confused as he was.

“What?” He finally asked, not bothering to hide his exasperation, for all that he loved his sister, she could be impossibly annoying sometimes.

“Why are you sitting…” she held her hands out in front of her and brought them together until they were almost touching, “…so close?” 

“What?” Mick asked.

“There’s a whole couch here and you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, it’s—you know what? Nevermind.”  Lisa shook her head, “Let me tell you about this undermanned armored car.”

 

**09.**

            “There,” Mick dropped the replacement part onto the table, “now we’re even.” 

“Why are you so obsessed with us being even?  Would it really be so terrible to owe me one tiny favor?”  Leonard was fairly certain that he already knew the answer, but sometimes—just for the hell of it—he liked to hear people confirm his well calculated theories.

“It’s easier this way.”  Mick replied with a shrug.

“What’s easier?” He asked.

“Being partners.” 

“Partners, huh?”  Leonard almost smirked, “As in, long-haul, watch each other’s backs, genuine, fifty-fifty partners?” 

“Something like that, sure.” Mick said, and he looked like he meant it. Like it was really that simple for him.

“Let me think about it.”

 

**10.**

            There was a thud. 

The sound of Lisa Snart exhaling. 

The sound of her body hitting the floor. 

Then a voice.

           

“Mick Rory, is it?” So Mick turned, cash from the store they’d been knocking over still in hand, and waited.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.  I have business with my daughter and you being here will only make things difficult.” 

 

Mick hummed, low, guttural, and nearly a growl.  This was the part where Leonard usually stepped in with a sarcastic comment and due punishment for anyone who dared hurt his sister—even if this man was, as he claimed, their father.

But the familiar sound of deadpan yet lilting syllables never came, which meant Leonard was nowhere to be found. 

 

“Funny kind ‘a family reunion,” Mick said to fill the silence.

 

“Yes, well, family can be so _complicated_.  You know how it is.”  The old coot did bear a passing resemblance to Lisa and Leonard, but the reason Mick took a step back was the gun pointed at Lisa’s head.  He would do it, Mick could see it spelled out across his face—as someone who’d killed before, he had learned to spot real intent in others.  Which meant he had two options: stay, risk Lisa’s life, and set this bastard on fire, or go and trust that that would keep her breathing.

So he turned, and headed for the exit, but not before throwing a parting comment back at the asshole.

“This ain’t gonna’ work out for you, you know that, right?”

“Oh, I disagree.”  Came the reply. 

 

That night he broke into three private residences and two additional stores before making time to set a few office buildings on fire. 

The police were too thinly spread to pay too much attention the little place where he’d left Lisa with her father.  Hopefully thinly spread enough that they’d be able to get away.  That her father would let her live.  


	2. Phase 2

**11.**

            “What the hell, Rory?”  Her gun was already up and pointed at his head.  There was no way he’d be slipping out of this one. 

“If you want your cut,” he grunted, “it’s over there.” 

“I’m not here about my damn cut; I’m here about you hanging me and Lenny out to dry.”  She crossed the room and pressed her gun to his temple, vaguely aware through her fury that he hadn’t bothered to raise his own weapon in return.

He didn’t move his head, but she could see that he was watching her out of the corner of his eye. The bastard actually had the gall to look confused; as if he hadn’t abandoned them—hadn’t abandoned _her_.

“Your old man was going to splatter your brains across the floor if I didn’t back off.  And your brother,” Mick shrugged, “Don’t know where he was.”

 The worst part was that Lisa wanted to believe him.  She knew her father wasn’t above tossing her aside, he’d never been subtle about her role in the family; she was the backup plan, second string, certainly disposable if she wasn’t useful enough. 

“I tried to distract the cops,” he went on, “To give you time.  Guess it worked.”

“Yeah,” her laugh was bitter, “The Flash and his little gang of do-gooders got the bomb out of my neck, Lenny killed our father, and now he’s off to prison.” 

“You could’ve contacted me.”  He said.

She saw his fingers twitch towards his gun as he spoke, and adjusted her position slightly to keep both his hands in sight. 

“I was a little busy,” she replied.

After a moment of tense silence, he asked, “You alright?” And for some reason that question took the wind out of her.

“You really didn’t know what the hell was going on, did you?” She lowered her gun slowly.

“Not a clue.”  He turned his head to get a better look at her, the frown on his face almost made her think he might be concerned.  As if ruthless arsonists got concerned.  But there was definitely _something_ in his expression that told her it was alright to put the gold gun back in its holster; something far and away from the glassy eyed expression she’d seen so many times before. 

 

“So that asshole really was your old man?”  Mick asked later once the two of them had given up any pretense of wanting to hurt each other and were comfortably seated on the worn couch that served as the most comfortable piece of furniture in the warehouse.

“Yep, a real candidate for father of the year,” the amount of sarcasm in her voice could have put her brother to shame. 

After a moment of hesitation she tucker herself against his side and with a blank face began to detail the horrifying mess that had been her childhood. 

He listened, unflinching, as the story unfolded until she had nothing left but silence. 

 

**12.**

            Moonlight filtered in through the dusty warehouse windows.  The place looked deserted, certainly not anything like the hub of activity it had been just weeks before. 

The phone rang, which was odd considering Mick hadn’t realized they _had_ a phone, much less one that was plugged in and functional.  But he got up, if only to stop the infernal ringing, and managed to find the damn thing.  It was on top of a metal filing cabinet, of all places. 

“What?” He rumbled into the receiver.

“Oh no,” Lisa’s voice drifted into his ear, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”  Her tone suggested that she was anything but sorry. 

“But hey,” she went on, “Now that you’re up how about you meet me for dinner?” 

“Breakfast.” He corrected.

“Whatever.” 

“Give me twenty minutes.”  He hung up.

 

It only took him fifteen minutes to arrive at the diner where he was greeted by a sleepy and uninterested waiter who told him to sit wherever, so he took their usual booth and waited.

Exactly five minutes later Lisa Snart showed up looking considerably less put together than usual.  Mick raised his eyebrows slightly, but declined to comment on her oversized sweatshirt and pulled back hair. 

“I tracked down Mardon,” she said, “One of the metas who owes my brother a favor; I think I might be able to talk him into breaking Lenny out of prison.” 

“I’m in,” Mick replied, but she went on as if she hadn’t heard him.

“But the thing is he’s a meta-human and all.  Cisco was calling him the Weather Wizard, and I’ve seen the guy in action, he packs a serious punch.  So I’m going to need backup.”  It was only then that she seemed to register what he’d said. 

“Oh.” Lisa wrinkled her nose, “I… I mean no offense or anything, but I didn’t think it’d be that easy to convince you.”

Mick shrugged, and accepted a cup of coffee from the tired waiter who finally made his way to their booth.  

“You come up with the plan,” he said, “And I’ll handle the rest.” 

 

**13.**

            “Call your sister yet?” Mick asked when Leonard turned back up at their hideout on Christmas day. 

“Stopped by to visit her, actually.  She was thrilled to see me, as I’m sure you can imagine.”  He replied, leaning against a worktable that, according to his calculations, would be out of range of Mick’s heat gun.

Mick grunted, and turned his attention back to the revolver he was taking apart.  Not the reaction Leonard had been expecting. 

“Don’t tell me you’re not happy to see me.” 

“Not sure what gives you that idea.”  Mick said.

“Oh come _on_ ,” with a spectacular eye roll he made his way across the room until there was only a table between them, “Listen, I know I owe you one for helping my sister out with Mardon.  Let me make it up to you.  You can pick the next job.” 

Mick slid the final piece of the revolver onto the table before looking up at him with a sigh. 

“No, Snart,” Mick shook his head, “This isn’t gonna’ work if we’re keeping score.  You can’t be worried about owing me anything, and neither can I.”

“So, what are you suggesting?” Leonard wrinkled his nose, “Because it sounds like… Actually I don’t know what it sounds like.”

“Imagine that, you not knowing something.” Mick shot back with the faintest hint of a grin on his face. “But what I’m saying is we just… We can keep score with other people, sure.  But not each other.  From this point on we’ve gotta’ be even all the way.”

“Deal.” Len agreed, extending his hand after a moment’s hesitation.  Mick stood up and leaned forward and extended his own gloved hand.  And that, as they say, was that.

 

**14.**

            “Seatbelt,” Mick grunted.

Len turned to look at him, absolutely appalled at being on the receiving end of what sounded suspiciously like an order.  The reprimand he had ready died in his throat as he absorbed the stupid grin on his partner’s face. 

“Gotcha’ that time.” 

“What are you talking about?”  Len asked, exasperated, but suddenly unable to muster up any real scorn.

“You’re always reminding me.  You were due.”  Mick said.

Len scoffed. 

 

**15.**

            “Mick.  Dinner.  You and me.  Right now.”  Lisa was in and out of the room before either of them had a chance to respond. 

Not that that stopped Len from directing a comment at the doorway through which his sister had entered and exited.

“You know it’s only four-thirty, right?”

But Mick just shrugged, got up from where he’d been seated on the (stolen) couch, and headed off to meet Lisa for dinner.

 

When he arrived at the diner she was sitting in what was now officially their regular booth, hands folded on the greasy little table, looking very serious.  He sat down without a word, and waited.  With the Snart siblings, he’d found, it was always better to wait a moment in case there was a speech brewing.  And if there was it was best to just let them get it out of their systems.  As least with Lisa the speeches weren’t all that condescending.

 

Instead of delivering a speech, Lisa reached into her bag and pulled out a box containing the last thing Mick Rory had expected.

“They made my brother into an action figure.”  Lisa’s serious façade cracked.  And in response Mick felt his own face break into a smile.

“How many did you take?” He asked.

“I have a whole case of them stashed back at the warehouse.” She said.

 

**16.**

            “You’re nothing but a pair of dirty crooks!”  The security guard snarled at them.

“So what?” Mick replied, laughing, as he cracked the guard over the head with a spare bit of pipe. 

Len smiled.  He had grown to enjoy not having to justify himself to anyone.  There was always something fantastically final about Micks agreeable replies to any insult that dealt with law breaking—or maybe it was just the sound of a concussion being born, Len could never quite tell which. 

 

“You really enjoy this life, huh Mick?”  He drawled, depositing the fuel needed for their respective guns into a padded briefcase.

“There’s nothing better,” came the almost cheerful reply from across the room where his partner was inspecting a wall of guns.

“I couldn’t agree more.”  Len added as he joined him.  They had three hundred forty one seconds before the cops would arrive (and if the Flash was going to get involved he’d have shown up sixty seconds ago so they were clear on that front). 

They added a few guns to the night’s haul before slipping out the back exit with twenty eight seconds to spare. 

 

**17.**

            They didn’t always go out drinking to celebrate a successful heist, but this one had been a three part whirlwind of moving parts and exact timing that left both of them drained.  So when Len suggested that they get a drink to celebrate Mick certainly wasn’t going to be the one arguing. 

 

They were still sitting shoulder to shoulder once the bar had cleared out some, leaning in and looking wildly conspicuous.  To be fair, Mick reasoned, everyone in the place was pretty sketchy looking, and he had seen at least three drug deals take place at the other end of the bar earlier in the night.

The two of them hadn’t even been plotting anything illegal.  Well, it would have been illegal if they were serious, but as it stood they were just two guys drinking, and planning theoretical and increasingly complicated heists that involved steps such as: _and then we travel back in time to the past to get vintage Russian military uniforms_.

When last call finally rolled around they took their leave.  Mick slung his arm around Len’s shoulders as they walked back to the warehouse and began explaining how he’d go about setting all of Italy on fire. 

 

“You coming in?” Mick asked once they reached their hideout.

“No,” Len said, “I don’t have much further to walk.”

“Alright.” Mick kissed him, quick and final, shrugged, and headed in.  And that was that. 

 

**18.**

            “Mick!” He yelled, “Get the door!” 

“On it,” came the slightly muffled reply, “How long we got, boss?”

“Not long enough!” Leonard called back to him, but despite the way things were falling apart there was a trill of triumph ringing in his ears.  Or maybe it was the sound of something flying through the air to strike him in the temple.  Either way, the next thing Leonard Snart remembered was waking up sprawled across the hideout couch with an ice pack wrapped in a towel sitting on his head. 

 

He sat up with a groan, an action he instantly came to regret as the room started to spin, forcing him to lie back down. 

“Oh good, you’re up.”  Came Mick’s voice from somewhere across the room, “D’you think you can help me with something, I can’t hold the mirror close enough and work the tweezers at the same time.”  The heavy sound of his footsteps as he crossed the room sent thunderclouds of pain through Len’s head, leading him to believe that no; he wouldn’t be able to help with anything. 

But his pride wouldn’t let him just say no, so with another groan he tried to sit up for a second time.  It wasn’t happening. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Mick said, sounding almost cheerful, “I’ll see if Lisa can stop by and give me a hand.” 

Len wanted to protest, but the heavy footsteps were moving away again and the pain kept his jaw clenched.  He wasn’t in so much pain, however, that he didn’t notice the single tone that sounded.  Just one number. 

“You’ve got my sister on your speed dial?”  He shut his eyes and tried to sound exasperated, but it didn’t quite take and Mick just shushed him.

 

“You got time to pull a bullet out of my arm?”  Len heard Mick say into the phone.  Then there was a long pause during which he hoped his sister was giving his partner hell. 

“He’s not dead, just a little out of it,” Mick said once he got a chance.  This was followed by yet another long pause.

“No, like a… a glancing kind of head injury.”

“…”

“Yes we’ve got ice on it.”

“…”

“Yes the normal kind, I’m not going to shoot him in the head with his own gun, give me some credit here.”

“…”

“Well he’s having trouble sitting up so you probably shouldn’t… Okay, okay.”  The sound of the phone being placed on the receiver was almost hesitant.  Len smiled. 

 

Mick crossed the room again to stand somewhere by Len’s feet, and remained there until he opened his eyes.

“You can still move your legs, right?”

“Of _course_ I can.  It’s a head injury, not a back problem.”  The pain made him more irritated.

“Good, move ‘em.”  Mick still sounded pleased with himself, although for what reason Len couldn’t fathom. He obliged, but only briefly.  Once Mick was seated on the opposite end of the couch he stretched his legs back out across his partners lap.

“Careful,” Mick shifted slightly, “Those bastards got me in the leg too, but I already got the bullet outta’ that one.  Cauterized it real nice, but it’s still sore.” 

So that was it.  He was in a damn good mood because he’d had an opportunity to burn himself.  Now that the source of his partner’s cheer was apparent, Len opened one eye to look at him with as much disapproval as he could muster without having to sit up, only to see that Mick was bleeding freely from a bullet wound in his scar covered shoulder that he was picking at with a pair of tweezers. 

“Stop messing with it, you’re going to get blood everywhere.”  Len said more annoyed because he felt something suspiciously similar to concern brewing in his chest. 

“Fine,” Mick grumbled, patting at it with an already bloodstained piece of gauze, “I’ll try not to bleed on anything if you stay awake to stop me.” 

“Doesn’t really seem like a fair deal to me…” He replied, shutting his eyes again and enjoying the feeling of the ice pack on his throbbing head.

“You’ve got a head injury, Snart.  Stay awake.”  Mick’s upbeat tone was undercut by concern, or at least Len thought it might have been.  It served him right to worry a little after all the stomping around.

“Fine,” he reluctantly opened his eyes again, “Keep me entertained.”

“Have I ever told you about the time I ended up in a duel with a Count?”

 

The swapped stories for an hour before Lisa showed up to patch them up properly.  Len had always known that his sister’s bedside manner was garbage, so he wasn’t entirely surprised to learn that her nursing skills were just as curt and heavy handed.  Mick got the worst of it though; she actually kneed him in the bullet wound on his leg as she was pulling the other bullet from his shoulder.  She did let him cauterize it himself though, which seemed to make up for things somehow. 

 

**19.**

            “So,” Len drawled sometime during day two of his _I-have-a-concussion-and-can’t-leave-yet_ stay at the warehouse, “Are we ever going to talk about what happened that night after the bar?” 

Mick could sense that this was just a prelude to something—probably a speech, maybe a leading conversation—so he just shrugged in response.  When all that earned him was a pair of raised eyebrows and an expecting silence he tried again.

“I guess.  What did you want to talk about?” He tried.

They were standing by the makeshift counter next to the half installed sink that Mick had been working on putting in, almost eye to eye and shoulder to shoulder; until they weren’t anymore, because Len was leaning in and kissing him.  Maybe it was because Len had a tendency to lean towards the dramatic, maybe it was because he was going out of his way to make a point, or maybe it was the way his hand clasped Mick’s arm pulling them closer together; but the kiss lingered to the point that Mick was a little surprised when Len abruptly stepped back and stared at him, perfectly composed and serious.

“I was hoping we could discuss the part that went something like that.”  Len said.

“I don’t recall that part.” Mick replied, and for a second he almost thought he saw a spark of panic flicker in his partner’s eyes.

“No?”  Len raised an eyebrow.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure it was more like this.” It wasn’t nearly as graceful as the kiss Len had initiated.  Their noses bumped together, teeth collided, and Len actually stepped on his foot as they moved towards each other out of sync.  Not that he minded, all of those things were just minor annoyances that were quickly whisked aside as Len’s fingernails scratched the back of Mick’s neck and Mick pressed his tongue into his partner’s mouth.

 

Had the sink not been pressed into his back so uncomfortably, and had Len been able to finish his speech they might’ve gone in any number of directions from there.  But all was not so fortuitous and the sink started to shift behind Mick, distracting him enough that it in turn distracted Len which, of course, jogged his memory with regards to the reason he’d initiated the conversation in the first place.

 

“Right,” Len was obviously going out of his way to not sound breathless, “I mean I think I was a bit closer with regards to accuracy, but the point stands.  This could complicate things.” 

“Only if we let it,” Mick shrugged, “We’re even right?  Don’t owe each other anything.  This won’t change that.” 

“We’ll see.” Len stared at him for a long moment before leaning in again.

 

**20.**

            “If you wanted to move out you could have just said so,” Lisa said with crossed arms and a jutting hip. 

“What are you talking about?”  Her brother asked, his airy sarcasm specifically calculated to counter her confrontational posture. Of course he wouldn’t make this easy for either of them.

“You haven’t been home in two weeks,” she said, “Now I’m willing to play this off as a prolonged side effect of your little concussion, but a heads up would have been nice.”

 

“The two of you live together?” Mick’s voice cut in from across the room.

“You live in a warehouse, you don’t get an opinion.” Lisa shot back without ever looking away from her brother’s smirking face.  Mick grunted in acquiescence and fell silent once more.

 

“Fine,” Len rolled his eyes, “I’m going to be crashing somewhere else for a while; so please, oh great and _terrifying_ little sister, don’t worry about me.” 

“Oh, please,” she shot back, utterly unimpressed by his theatrics and quite ready to move on with her day, she had plans to get her nails done in an hour.  There was still one more thing she needed to confirm before her business here was done though, so, with no time to waste, she abruptly turned from her brother and crossed the warehouse to where Mick was sitting.  Lisa had always enjoyed the sound of thick heels on concrete; it was ominous and made just the right statement. 

 

“And you,” she said, placing a hand on Mick’s shoulder so he turned to look up at her, “I know my brother acts like he’s got ice in his veins, but we both know that’s not entirely true.  So I want you to know that if you hurt him in any way, ever, I’ll break your back.” 

Mick stared at her for a long moment, hopefully absorbing the seriousness of her threat, or at least wrapping his head around it.

“Sounds like a fair deal,” he said after he was done weighing her words. 

“I knew my brother had good taste,” she smiled, “Well, sometimes anyway.”  She shot Len a glance before leaning down to plant a kiss on the top of Mick’s head.  He tried to make his snort of laughter sound like a cough as he turned back to the mechanical manual he’d been reading. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that Captain Cold action figures are an actual canon thing is hilarious.

**Author's Note:**

> It's funny that I'm finally getting around to posting this after Legends 1x06, but what can I say? I love suffering.  
> I also apologize for the POV switching. It arose out of necessity.


End file.
